Split Personalities
by Amanita Virosa-Amaranthus
Summary: Artemis Entreri. King of Assassins. Feared throughout Faerun. We've seen that there's more to him than meets the eye. So what happened in between and after those moments in his life we already know about? A take on the many possible hidden lives of Artemis. Multi-segment story, and AU in some segments.


**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the recognized characters or locations of R.A. Salvatore's or Forgotten Realms creation**

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His target was a two-timing thief, one which his Pasha Basadoni wished to be eliminated. First, however, he wanted to know who else the two-timer was working for. Freshly a lieutenant of the Basadoni guild, he'd set off to do as asked. A large sum of gold was promised for the job, although he himself had no need for gold. At least, not at the moment.

It had taken him 3 months to track the bastard down and another month and a half to actually catch up to him where he had a chance of confronting the bugger. They'd left the warm winds and hot sands of the Calishite desert long behind, and had travelled further north. He managed to predict where the thief was headed next, to Waterdeep. Not so bad a place if you didn't count the fact it was one of the safer cities for do-gooders. That and although it certainly wasn't as cold as say, Ten Towns could be, it was still colder than the desert. He was beginning to think himself a fool for wanting to travel outside the hot desert.

He was relieved when he finally managed to catch sight of the port city, perhaps now he could actually catch the damnable thief and get some rest. He wasn't one much for luxury or laziness, he detested it in fact, but he was beginning to feel suspicious about how his muscles seemed to have stiffened up, and his energy was, he was sure, at an all-time low. He felt sorry for anyone fool enough to talk to him right now, as his generally foul mood was outright vicious due to what he hoped -and he didn't hope often- was not the beginnings of a cold.

The guards didn't give him much of a glance, which really did make sense as he supposed he looked more like a road-worn retch than anything remotely dangerous. Save for his foul mood, he unfortunately had to agree with the sentiment. The city itself was a sight to behold, if you were not on a job, he supposed. It took him a good 5 hours of digging through Waterdeep's underworkings to find someone remotely informative, and by that point, it had been raining for 3 of the 5 hours. He doubted his mood could be much fouler as it was at the current moment. He had a job to do, however, so he staked out where his information had led him, confirmed that the two-timing thief was indeed staying there, and then left to find his own place to stay the night. The bastard was gambling in the main hall, and as much as he wanted the job finished, he wasn't stupid enough to think that Waterdeep's city guard would brush off a murderous interrogation right in front of them.

The morning started out bright, overcast, but still puzzlingly somehow cheerful. He didn't understand normal society, or he did, he simply chose to ignore the fluffy non-sense that do-gooders decided to believe. He left the only slightly downtrodden inn, making for the other inn where his target was sure to have either passed out from excessive drinking and gambling, or was heading out to grab some breakfast.

He caught sight of the thief just a block ahead of him, seemingly oblivious to his follower. He debated about rushing up now, but then determined that he'd only end up in the same situation as he would have last night. The street was crowded, but not so much as to prevent anyone from seeing what would happen. It was due to that decision to stay behind, that he found himself suddenly jostled by a crowd forming around a small spectacle. A woman and a man were arguing over what appeared to be dropped books. Typically not something he would have been interested in, except that the woman was certainly not the submissive type as she was giving the man a tongue thrashing if the volume of her voice, and her expression were anything to go by. A lover's quarrel he decided, still keeping one eye on his target. He was far, it seemed he was taking advantage of the situation and was snatching a few pastries from an abandoned stall. A loud smack drew his attention back to the couple, and he frowned as he watched the woman stagger back. The man was shouting at her now, and he raised his fist as if to strike her again. Artemis was a man he considered typically removed from such confrontations, but this one stirred up old memories. Memories that certainly had no business coming to mind now, but did regardless. Women should not be hit. They were not always the weaker sex, but they were fairer, and their bones seemed to break more easily than a man's.

He wasn't entirely clear on when he'd pushed through the crowd only that in the next moment, he'd laid the offending trash down to the ground with a powerful right hook that seemed out of place for his small frame. The crowd around him cheered as the noble-looking young man staggered back to his feet, and the idiot seemed to understand that he was holding no favour with anyone in the crowd, as they chanted for Artemis to knock him around again. With a scowl at the woman behind Artemis, the noble-looking trash scampered away.

He'd thought that was the end of that, and turned so as to catch sight of his target again, only to find himself face to face with the woman, who appeared grateful. With the crowd already dispersing, she thanked him for dealing with her fiancé.

"He's your fiancé?" he asked. He was still trying to catch sight of his target. Surely he couldn't have slipped away already.

She nodded, seeming frustrated, and asked if he would help her with her books. He sneered.

"I don't have time to help hapless little girls." He brushed past her as finally –thankfully- he caught sight of his target once again, and moved to catch up.

He didn't pay attention to her as he moved away, he only barely registered her shouting something at his back, before his instincts kicked in and he whirled around to catch a book aimed for his head. He had been courteous enough, he figured, he'd helped her, so for her to be so rash as to throw something at him infuriated him. He opened his mouth, fury on his face to reprimand her, but only got so far as a strangled squawk. Her face, he thought for the full half a second his thoughts were comprehensive, was like that of an enraged hell cat. He dropped to the ground before the entire second was completed, desperately clinging to consciousness as his world blackened from agony. He didn't think he was enough of a bastard to deserve being kicked that hard in the crotch, really, he didn't. Regardless, that woman could bloody kick.

When he came to, not recalling when he'd failed to maintain consciousness, it was in a room painted in soft blue hues. He could feel his body tingling strangely in different places, over his chest, on his stomach, just below his jaw on his left, and curiously, as well as painfully, his crotch. He briefly wondered if the woman had been mad enough to keep hitting him, before removing the thought form his mind. This wasn't the pained tingling of a forming bruise, but the tingling of a healing salve. His question, however, was why the healing salve would be on his privates. As he understood, it wasn't meant to go there due to the obvious side effect it would produce. He shifted, and to his chagrin, realized that yes, it had indeed worked wonderfully in terms of bringing his rather painfully sore crotch to partial-hardness. It didn't help that some of the other places the healing salve was spread were, well, rather sensitive spots for him. The healer had obviously found some of his old bruises when they'd been, what, inspecting him? For what? What healer inspects a man kicked in the crotch? He opened his eyes again, prepared to ask that very question when he heard the door to the room opening. Only, instead of a healer, it was **that** woman.

For a moment he was quiet, the blatant conclusions springing full force into his mind that the very woman that had kicked him was now tending to him. He wasn't so sure he was comfortable with that. He glared.

"What the hell is your problem?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, and asked if he would have rather been left in the street, unconscious. She then quickly continued, snapping into a spiteful bitch-as far as he was concerned anyways- saying he had no right to yell at her so after she had dragged him, **and **her books, which, by the way, he **hadn't** helped her with, back home. He gave her kudos for the feat, he did, but not out loud.

"I don't suppose it occurred to you if hadn't kicked me you wouldn't have had to have an additional baggage." He smirked, seeing no current flaw in his logic.

She reminded him of the danger of making this particular spitfire angry very quickly when he found himself suddenly drenched in rather cold water. He yelped, to his shame. On the plus side, she seemed to calm quickly afterwards, muttering he should be grateful it was only water, and not the soup. With that, she brought in a tray full of a bowl of soup and some bread. He eyed it suspiciously, suspecting as always for it to be poisoned. She quickly made a comment on how he looked like a paranoid old man with his scowl and suspicious looks. He suppressed the fact he was startled. Was it so obvious he suspected the food? She laughed, saying he was cute, and he found himself struggling to hide his reactions further. How could this woman read him so easily? She set the food down beside him on the nightstand, then, without warning, grabbed the covers. He quickly grasped them, trying in vain to stop the inevitable as she whipped them off him, leaving him, to his horror, nude before her. How many lines did this woman intend to cross? He shouted at her.

"What the hell?!" He grabbed a pillow to try and cover himself, but to his chagrin, she pushed it away and straddled him in one fine move. "If you're looking for some action, I'm afraid you've put me rather out of the mood for quite a while" he snarled. She laughed, grabbing a jar tucked into her blouse and opening it. The same pungent smell of healing salve already on him drifted to his nose, and he tried to refrain from letting his eyes water at the stronger scent of the fresh salve. She took this opportunity to apply the salve, to the most inappropriate place. Of course. His already nearly watering eyes filled further with salty water as he yelped, both from surprise, and because dammit, that still hurt there! Thankfully, she seemed to get something of a hint as she became gentler with the application, which truly only made things worse.

"Fuck!" He swore. Now he had the ever so wonderful situation of feeling that healing salve work its damnable magic on him afresh. His body was sending so many confusing signals to his brain right now, it hurt, because he'd been kicked and was still very sensitive, but she was being oh-so gentle, and that healing salve was warming as well as tingling and…he was in trouble if he didn't get out of this. "Stop." That sounded weak and far too quiet for his liking. "Stop." His voice had dropped an octave, and oh! There. Yes. There. Like **that**. "I said stop dammit!" He wanted, he didn't know what he wanted, but damn all the good and bad things, she'd stopped, just as he wanted more. She asked if there was a problem with that damnable raised eyebrow. He gaped.

"You realize where you're rubbing don't you?" His voice was strained, his crotch hurt but his body was all tingly and warm and fuck he was aroused. She nodded, smirked, and then rolled her eyes. It's just a salve, she said. It's to stop any bruising and to speed healing, she said.

"It's also arousing as... no, damn you, just no! That's not meant to go there!" He would have fled a long time ago if he'd thought he'd be able to walk. As embarrassing as it was, he knew well enough that trying to walk with this sort of injury was next to impossible. She just giggled, but stopped, putting the lid back on the jar. She told him she expected the bruises on his torso to heal by the next morning. He was grateful she wasn't going to apply salve on them too. Despite his typical iron-fisted control over his body, right now he aroused to the point he didn't know if could honestly keep said control if she started rubbing over his nipples or the sensitive area just under his jaw. He glared at her as she left.

The next tenday passed not so very quiet for Artemis. He'd tried twice to leave throughout that time. The first time, she'd smacked him with another book. He was starting to hate books. That had knocked him out just for enough time that it made it ludicrous to leave when he did come to. The second time, he'd actually managed to make it downstairs. He'd been just a few feet away from the door, weapons belt haphazardly about his waist, when the next thing he knew he was opening his eyes to the same damned bedroom ceiling, with a bonus splitting headache. He'd learned after that she'd cracked him over the head with a fucking chair. That and she'd done it hard enough to break one of the fucking legs off. He'd been out about 3 days before he came to, and had the lovely pleasure of coming to with a very worried and panicked she-devil beside him. He still had a nasty headache if he moved too fast, and it was now halfway through a second tenday. The she-devil had thankfully brought in an actual healer after the chair incident, which not so thankfully had resulted in him being confined to bed rest for the next 4 days. Damned healer had announced he had a concussion. Lovely. Also lovely was him being tied to the fucking bed when the she-devil got fed up of him trying to get up on his own. Apparently she thought him having a concussion rendered him incapable of even feeding himself. All in all, it had been a very, very trying and humiliating tenday and a half.

It was the next morning that he got up, got dressed, and waited for the she-devil to come check on him. He'd discovered that she stayed fairly not crazy if he kept himself in the room until she came and checked on him, and made sure he was alright. She came in, as expected, smiles and hugs as she saw him up and dressed. He let her hug him. Better to let her than have her get upset, again. She kissed him on the cheek, he let that too. He was going to be on his best behavior today, because he was sure that was the only way he was going to get out of here. Also, it was the only thing he hadn't tried yet. She seemed happy, overly so that he was being not violent. She hugged his head to her, giggling, and he found himself promptly face buried in her cleavage. That he struggled against. It wasn't that she wasn't attractive, far from it, unfortunately. He just had no desire to be intimate with a she-devil that had kept him captive for so long. Particularly one that supposedly had a fiancé, although he didn't know at what point she could have gone to see him, considering she was looking after him the entire time. He pulled away successfully, more than a little flustered and angry at himself for being so. He muttered under his breath.

"Damn it." She looked at him quizzically. "It's nothing" He said loud enough for her to hear. She smiled that infuriatingly 'oh, really' smile at him. He growled. "I need to leave." Her face dropped, and for a moment he had a panic attack she'd gone crazy again. She nodded quietly, and then asked him if she could at least have his name, seeing as how she hadn't known it all this time. He was surprised at that, he figured he'd simply forgotten she'd told him hers, or she'd told him while she thought he'd been conscious enough to hear it. "Artemis." He cleared his throat, feeling flustered again oddly. She tilted her head as though questioning. "My name, it's Artemis." Why was he so flustered? He could feel his face and ears burning. She smiled, then told him her name was Anya. Her face too, it seemed, was flushed. He took little comfort in that. He nodded, and then stood. "Don't expect to see me again." She seemed downcast at that. She told him she thought that maybe he'd have wanted to stay. She liked him much better than her stupid betrothed. "Sorry, but I don't get attached." He shrugged. She looked very nearly close to crying, and he figured now was as good a time as any to leave. He quickly did so.

He'd spent the first few minutes of being outside again searching his contacts and finding out that his target had indeed left Waterdeep. On a ship. He cursed. He'd lost his target. Basadoni would have his head. He might be spared that he was Basadoni's best, but he never counted on such a thing. Afterwards, he'd quickly gathered supplies and had set out of Waterdeep. He wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. He'd passed a number of caravans heading towards the city on his way back to Calimport, and at each one he'd turned his head and looked back to make sure he hadn't heard Anya's voice. The woman was going to drive him insane, why couldn't she leave him alone? Even after he got out of her vice-grip, even after he managed to finally get away from her, now his mind was playing tricks on him. Worse, he found himself missing her company. He had to admit, if only to himself, that by no means had any of their conversations been boring. That had also extended into his time staying there. He was a man that couldn't stand staying still or in one place for long. Yet somehow, he couldn't recall a single moment that'd he been bored with her. She'd kept him on his toes, be it with her temper or simply that she actually had a head on her shoulders and could put most rulers to shame with her debates. A sharp tongue and a sharper wit to go with it. He'd liked it. There was no harm in admitting that now was there? He was far from her.

On second thought, yes, yes there was harm in admitting that. Now he was thinking he actually enjoyed her company, and that in itself made him realize he'd also enjoyed her. In other ways. They hadn't slept together, but the little touches she'd given him when checking his head, or when she'd checked the old bruises on his torso, he realized to his horror that he **craved** them. His loins tightened and warmed at the thought. She had been undeniably attractive. He had in fact, when he'd felt himself safe enough to try it, purposely incited her anger; simply because he'd…he'd what? He hadn't known at the time, just that he'd liked it when she was mad. Now he was realizing that he'd liked it alright. More than he really wanted to admit. Walking was getting uncomfortable.

His mind was playing tricks on him, had to be. There was no way he was missing her. Artemis Entreri did not miss people. No. It didn't happen. Yet he kept taking glances behind him at the now fairly distant walls of Waterdeep. His chest felt unusually tight. More so the farther he got. He rubbed his chest, trying to ease the ache that seemed to have settled there.

It had been half the fucking day. Half the day was gone, it was starting to rain, he was cold, wet, tired, his feet hurt, and he'd be damned if he was taking another step away from that gods damned city and that damnable, beautiful, sexy, wonderful fucking spitfire of a woman and what the hell. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but he wanted, no, needed to see her. He'd never needed something like this before in his life. He picked up his pace more, pushing his limits further. He was exhausted, but he kept running. He was going to make those damned city walls if it was the last thing he did.

He'd made it just barely. He still didn't know why he was doing this, or what was wrong with him, but he was becoming more and more desperate to see Anya. He needed to see her, needed to..to touch her, hold her. What the hell was wrong with him?! He spent the next 5 minutes scrambling to find…something. A shop with something she'd like maybe? He figured if he was going to show up again after saying he didn't get attached he should have..something. He was also stalling. Him, Artemis Entreri, youngest lieutenant of the Basadoni guild, stalling? Nothing made sense to him right now. Of course, he doubted he'd be welcomed back into Basadoni's ranks after failing his last mission. A little longer wait wouldn't do that much harm, would it? He finally found a shop that was still open. A flower shop, he cringed at the idea of entering the smelly place.

"Necessary evil." He mumbled under his breath. He said to himself again as a way of steeling himself as he walked in. The scents nearly overwhelmed him, but he gritted his teeth and looked around. There, blue flowers. Forget-me-nots? He was sure he'd seen her with one or two of the flowers in her hair. He picked a few up, inspecting them. They seemed to be in good health, although he was certainly far from an expert. Ironic that he was buying forget-me-nots for a woman he couldn't forget. An elderly woman came up to him, a smile and a disconcerting twinkle in her eye as she said he'd be wanting to buy more than that if was looking to impress. He flushed. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. With a wink, she took the flowers he was holding from his limp hand and gathered a few more from the basket, turning and laying them on the counter across the room. As the old woman bent down, she asked him what colour his lady liked, and he found himself stuttering as he struggled to say she wasn't his lady. Yet. He wanted her to be, he realized.

He dragged his feet up towards her door. Why? Why was this happening to him? He'd heard about people falling head over heels for someone. He'd always thought them foolish, idiotic, and stupid. Yet here he was, tripping over his own tongue and nearly tripping over his own feet as he both rushed and dragged his feet at the same time. He was nervous, excited, and dare he say it, hopeful. He raised his hand and tentatively knocked on the door. No answer. Of course no answer, he'd knocked so timidly it probably hadn't even been heard. He steeled his will and knocked again, strongly. He heard movement on the other side. Heavier footsteps approached than what he was expecting to hear, and he second guessed himself for a moment, wondering if he'd stopped at the right house. Then the door opened and the noble-looking trash appeared. The bastard snarled at him, asking what the hell he was doing there. He was confused. What was…oh, right, her fiancé. He ran a hand through his hair, looking off to the side. Of course she would be with her fiancé. This was…embarrassing, humiliating, and worst of all, depressing. The noble-looking trash barked at him again, but stopped when a softer voice rang out from behind. Enough, she said, sounding mad. Artemis turned to look at her, and flushed deeply when he did. She was only wearing a slip! What the hell?

She stormed down the stairs, to Artemis the very picture of beauty, and pushed her fiancé out of the way. She stood there for a moment before she said his name and started tearing up. He shyly held up the small bouquet of forget-me-nots, tied with a white and pink ribbon, and cleared his throat, looking off to the side, but keeping her in his peripheral. He wanted to see if she actually liked them. He saw her see them, saw her eyes tear up more, and then suddenly he was being hugged so tight he thought she might squish his stomach. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she cried into his shoulder, crying thank you over and over again. She'd been hoping so much that he would come back, she told him. He held her tighter, marveling in how he felt so…at peace, so..happy.

She turned her face up to him, smiling, and kissed him.

"I love you." She said. He looked down at her for a time, then cleared his throat.

"If that's what made me drag my ass back here, and go into that hell of scents for these..things, then I guess I love you too." She giggled at that.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'll teach you all about love." She kissed him again, this time full on the mouth.

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Hope you enjoyed. Let me know what you think of it so far. If it seems incomplete, keep in mind that this is but a segment of the full story.

_Amanita Virosa-Amaranthus _


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